The stick hammered away again. "Because we've got _obligations_ there. We've got to defend Belgium, for one. And if we hadn't--if we hadn't any obligations we'd pretty soon, we'd damn soon find them as soon as ever Germany breaks loose. That's what these National Service Johnnies ought to tell the people, that's what Bobs ought to tell them, that's what these blasted politicians ought to tell them: you don't want National Service to defend your perishing homes. The Navy's going to do that. You want it like hell because you've got to defend your _lives_--out there." He waved his stick towards "out there." "My God!" he said. He was consumed with the intensity of his own emotions. "My God!" Despite himself, Sabre was impressed. The man would have impressed anybody. His eyes were extraordinarily penetrating. There actually were tiny little points of perspiration about his nose. "I never thought about that," Sabre said doubtfully. "I never thought there were any obligations. I doubt any member of the Government would admit there were any." "I know damn well they wouldn't," Otway declared. "And they'd be helped to deny it, or to evade it, by the howl of laughter there'd be in the Commons if any one had the guts to get up and ask if we had any obligations. There's no joke goes down like that sort of joke. Well--" His manner changed. He tucked his stick under his arm and took out a silver cigarette case. "Cigarette? Well--they'll laugh the other side of their chuckle heads one of these days." Sabre took a cigarette. "You're pretty sure there's going to be a war, aren't you?"